


Unforgivable

by firewolfsg



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Gangbang, M/M, Molest, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:30:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewolfsg/pseuds/firewolfsg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Merlin met Arthur, the prince was once given as a hostage to Mercia. After Merlin finds out how his Prince had suffered, he takes suitable revenge…</p>
<p>Spoilers: Season 1, particularly 1x04 The Poisoned Chalice</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforgivable

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: An Anonymous poster responded to the kinkme_merlin LJ Community Prompt of: _Uther pimps Arthur out to visiting nobles or as part of a treaty signing, etc. _with the story For the "[Love of Camelot](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/1108.html?thread=444756#t444756)" I was inspired by it and the later comments so asked for and received permission to play in her sandbox this was the result.
> 
> (Originally posted May 2009)

Merlin never understood why of all the insults he ever exchanged with Arthur, the man always reacted badly when he was called an ‘arse’, or worse a ‘royal arse’. He figured out within days of his new job as the Prince’s manservant that ‘prat,’ or even ‘ass’ were safer and much more acceptable insults. ‘Royal ass’ was even okay. Depending on Arthur’s mood, sometimes it even amused him when Marlin called him a ‘prat’; but never ‘arse.’ That was strictly a no-no. 

No one would tell him why though. It was apparently a taboo subject within Camelot. And a tale Merlin only started to uncover when he was digging through old records in the library and found a tiny passage on the history of King Uther’s reign. A brief mention of how he had once sent an eighteen-year-old Arthur to Mercia as a hostage while Camelot was forced to tear down their fortifications at the borders of their lands. 

When asked, the Dragon for once dropped all his riddles and told him the entire sordid story.

*~*~*

>   
> The Saxon lords had been very pleased with the boy. The Prince’s futile efforts to resist excited them and fired their lust; so much so it provided Bayard a fine night of entertainment as he witnessed the Saxons repeatedly fuck and brutally ravage Uther's son till dawn. The Saxon commanders even went so far as to spit roast the boy between them; a knife blade laid just once and gently against his cheeks ensured he did not dare bite them.
> 
> However, it still didn’t seem sufficient to the Saxons. So they asked and Bayard allowed the Saxons to ‘borrow’ Uther’s heir without any qualms. Mercia’s King even accompanied them as an honoured guest that morning to watch as they brought their new whore back to their encampment draped stomach over the lap of the leader, nude, mouth gagged and with his arms securely chained behind him. 
> 
> When they arrived at the encampment, the Saxon leader rode his horse around the tents to proudly parade their nude prize to the lustful and anticipating gaze of his men who were quick to notice the moist trails that leaked and dripped down the boy’s legs from an obviously freshly fucked arse. The Saxon leader’s mailed hand also alternately patted the firm pink fleshed buttocks of his squirming captive and suggestively stroked a finger or two into his come drooling pucker. By the time he stopped his horse near the central fire the entire Saxon camp was howling and burning with want for the whore they were sure their leader was about to deliver into their hands.
> 
> “Men, we regret to announce that we shall be leaving these lands without the plunder we had hoped to reap.” There were some small murmurs of discontent at this, but the Saxon leader knew there was little thought for matters like that when he had all attention focussed on his squirming prisoner. “However, we have been offered some small recompense for our journey. Some light entertainment with this rare treasure.” He slapped the bare rump under his hand, “a *royal* arse for the sharing; the young Prince of Camelot himself, who your leaders can attest as a right good fuck.”
> 
> Raucous laughter greeted his words and the boy over his lap stopped struggling having seemed to finally realise his futile wiggling was bringing unwanted attention to his vulnerable arse. “I’m sorry to say though that he has only been lent to us and we’ll have to give him back in fair enough shape.” The Saxon leader grinned as he once more inserted two fingers into his captive’s moist puckered opening and twisted them within the writhing boy, much to the crowd’s shouts of delight. “So we’ll show him a gentle touch, won’t we lads?”
> 
> The jeers and cheering were almost deafening. The commander grinned at the eager faces looking up at him even as he felt the boy trembling under his hand. 
> 
> “Have at him then, lads.” He pushed the boy off his lap and into the eager clutching hands of his men. “Let’s show him how strong and commanding Saxon men can be, eh?”
> 
> Uther’s son practically disappeared under the sea of men. The Saxons lost no time in dropping the struggling boy on his back and catching his desperately flailing legs to hold them high and widespread while others stripped him of his gag. And so upon the dirt of the Saxon camp less than a day after his father delivered him into Marcia’s care as a hostage, Arthur began his long exhausting service as a prized whore to the common Saxon soldiers and later the Mercians after their allies departed.
> 
> *~*~*
> 
> When he first watched the Saxons in their entertainment, Bayard honestly thought they were going to gang fuck Uther’s heir to death. The Saxons had quickly got themselves organized as soon as the fucking began; each man taking their pleasure at their own pace with their whore’s mouth or arse till satisfyingly satiated before moving off to be orderly replaced by the next in line, leaving very little time between a spent and limp cock being dragged out of their whore and a new stiff rod swiftly thrusting into place.
> 
> After that first day of frantic fucking upon the dirt, the evening saw the Saxons giving Uther’s son a short break to move his exhausted and come flooded body into a tent. There they chained him upon a makeshift stand which would allow his head and rump to hang over the edges at waist level; a most convenient height for the men to just free their cocks from their breeches and step up to impale their whore's arse or deliver their cocks straight down his throat. His wrists were further chained to stakes driven into the ground while his legs were bent and secured at thigh and knees to poles set on either side of the stand which stretched his legs wide enough to part his arse cheeks and put on inviting display his much abused and come drooling rose pucker. 
> 
> Bayard observed that the Saxons commander had left his men to their own devices to fuck their camp whore at their individual pace, still there was little jostling among the men as they exchanged places quite methodically and demonstrated commendable discipline when they took their turns upon their prized royal indulgence. However, though they were careful not to tear or injure their whore, their vigorous pace of abuse was still worrisome, but quite understandable given their limit time to have this sweet fuck toy in service of their lust. 
> 
> Bayard reminded himself that the Saxon commanders agreed to depart within two weeks. And knowing the young prince would remain their camp whore till then, Bayard truly wondered if he’d have anything left to reclaim by the time they left.
> 
> However, the Saxons were mindful of Bayard’s wish to keep his hostage alive and so they monitored the boy’s condition. And their men too paid attention to his health, backing off from emptying their release into his mouth and possibly drowning him whenever he fainted and waiting for him to regain consciousness before they’d once more go back to filling his gullet with their pleasure. Additionally, they gave their whore regular periods of rest twice a day during which he was assisted with his toilet, was given food and water and allowed some unmolested sleep time; all to ensure the boy would live to be fucked by the rest of their comrades and that they’d return a living hostage to Mercia. 
> 
> The Saxons even regularly had their whore's sorely abused body wiped clean and smeared with healing ointments. After all, Uther's son was a beautiful young man, and he was far more enticing when clean and gleaming with the oils they’d use on his skin rather than drenched and caked with drying come. Still, the Saxons wasted no time with releasing their whore from the stand for the brief periods he was allowed to rest untouched. So Uther’s son lived upon that stand in the ‘rape’ tent for all of those two long weeks.
> 
> Sometimes though, the camp physician intervened to insist they give Uther’s son additional breaks from fucking. However, the men didn’t leave the boy untouched during those rare periods as there would always be someone playing with his helpless body. When he was clean, especially, there would often be a crowd presumptuously kissing, licking, biting and chewing upon his honeyed flesh as if they meant to devour or eat him up; littering his helplessly retrained body with possessive bruising bite marks. Sometimes there might even be a man with his face between the wide spread arse cheeks, licking and tonguing their prisoner’s much ravaged rose while others played with his cock and balls with hands and mouth, striving to steal an orgasm from their camp whore’s shuddering body. Despite their leaving his mouth un-gagged during these periods though, the Saxons never got Arthur to speak or beg them to release him from this hellish existence.
> 
> By the time the last of the Saxons left and they handed back Camelot’s Prince, Bayard was just glad to find him still alive. With the state the boy was in though, the Mercian King was left to guess that the Saxons had dispensed with most of the restraints over their men during the last couple of days and visited upon their camp whore a last frantic farewell gangbang before they gave him back to Mercia. 
> 
> Bayard could see that he would need to heal and rebuild the boy’s strength before his own men could begin to enjoy their camp whore too. Then again, unlike the Saxons, Bayard wasn’t in a hurry. After all, it would take months for Uther to demolish the fortifications during which time Bayard generously reasoned that the young prince didn’t need to service his men at the exhaustive pace employed upon him by the Saxons. But Uther didn’t need to know that. Camelot’s King would have his men work faster if given an incentive to. And if belief that his son and heir might be fucked to death if he took too long to tear down those annoying fortifications speeded his efforts, all the better. Still, Bayard didn’t really mind if Uther took his time. His boy was quite a delectable little morsel.
> 
> Bayard allowed Uther’s son two days of rest before he had the boy installed in his new rape tent; securing him upon a camp bed by a chain to his collar and with wrists manacled to his ankles. The chain from collar to the cot was kept short, preventing him from sitting upright upon the cot. After all, Bayard reasoned that his soldiers would keep their royal whore in one of two positions during his stay with them, on his knees or upon his back. 
> 
> Though assured of their royal guest’s long stay as a hostage and given the suggestion that they needn’t feel pressured for time to enjoy their whore, the Mercian men still formed long snaking lines around the camp in the queue for the use of their beautiful prisoner. Bayard saw little reason to interfere. His only act of discretion was to make certain his men gave the prince two rest-breaks a day of at least four hours duration for food, water and to take his toilet. Bayard also had his physician periodically check on Uther’s son to ensure he did not die. After all, they were committed to return the boy to Camelot alive. 
> 
> Later on though, upon his physician's insistence, Bayard reluctantly limited the number of men privileged to enjoy their whore's charms to twenty men daily; each man allowed but two candle marks' duration to fuck their hostage as many times as they were capable of. The men quickly learned that they could make the best use of the time allotted to them if they banded together as a group and pooled their sessions; for they could use their whore two at a go and while they rested, their comrades could take their turns and they would often have enough time to recover for another round or three when the first pair's turns cycled back to them again. Occasionally, if they fucked their whore sufficiently quickly, the group could even squeeze in four rounds. Again, the physician forcefully stepped in and restricted their grouping to no more than five, thus reducing the men's ability to fuck their whore more than twice in their pooled allotted time. 
> 
> Other than that though, Bayard allowed his men free reign to use their camp whore as they desired. In fact, the King himself would often visit the rape tent and take a seat on a couch purposefully set up for him to observe the erotic tableau of his men energetically ravaging Uther’s precious son. It was fine entertainment to while away many a boring evening at this observation post whilst they waited for Camelot's forces to remove the objectionable fortifications. Bayard certainly thought it invigorating to watch as their beautiful nude hostage helplessly squirmed and writhed beneath Mercian soldiers on the come flooded cot while impaled and skewered upon their eager cocks. 
> 
> It also warmed the Mercian King’s heart to see his men’s delight and satisfaction with the elicit entertainment he was able to provide them at this lonely outpost far away from their homes. Uther's precious heir was indeed a god sent gift of boredom relief which made the onorous duty of monitoring the work of Camelot's forces so much more easier to endure.
> 
> *~*~*
> 
> Word of Arthur’s torment at the hands of Mercia’s Saxon allies eventually filtered back to Camelot nearly a week after the Saxon’s departure. Uther hadn’t really wanted to verify the rumours, but a query to Mercia returned with a letter accompanied by the torn and come stained clothes Arthur had worn when he left Camelot.
> 
> The King was in a towering fury to learn that the three Saxon leaders had raped Arthur in Bayard’s tent on his first night in the Mercian camp. It was even worse to hear that the Saxons had further brought his son back to their own encampment to share him with their soldiers for the two weeks it took them to organize a march to depart. ‘As recompense,’ Bayard had claimed in the letter, ‘for denying them the plunder which they could have had from attacking Camelot, I had to offer them something else of Camelot’s to plunder.’
> 
> Uther had fumed and yelled as he threw Arthur’s ruined and come stained clothes into the fire. But he could do nothing else. Even knowing his son was now in Bayard’s encampment clearly also relentlessly entertaining his soldiers on his knees or on his back, Uther’s hands were tied. Camelot’s forces were too weak to threaten Mercia with war, not while Bayard could easily call back his Saxon allies; allies who at the end of this could possibly then permanently claim his son as a slave. 
> 
> All Uther could do was marshal more men to tear down the fortifications Bayard objected to. And it was slow work and Uther now regretted taking his time in gathering his forces for the task. It had taken them six months to build the fortifications. They were barely three weeks into demolishing them. And it was already three weeks too long for Arthur.
> 
> *~*~*
> 
> Despite the urgency, it still took Camelot four months to tear down the fortifications to Bayard’s liking. And it was only then that the Mercian King finally allowed a small party of Uther's knights to approach their encampment to retrieve their Prince. Even so, the Mercians had made them wait a few more hours before a couple of smirking soldiers lead them to a special tent set up in the centre of the encampment.
> 
> King Bayard had looked upon the Knights of Camelot with challenge when he pointed them to the tent where their prince was held. It had broken their hearts when they entered the tent which stank of sex and stale sweat to find their cruelly abused Prince bound in chains and curled upon a puddle of come on the flooded cot. It had angered them when they touched his barely responsive form and realised that the ropes of come sprayed and generously smeared all over him was still fresh and warm; evidence enough that the Mercians must have delayed them so that they could finish off a last gang rape session. And they wondered how much it must have cost their Prince to force himself to move and curl into the position he was in now when his abusers must have no doubt left him in a much more humiliatingly exposed position.
> 
> However, for all the anger and fury the knights felt in their hearts for the state they found their Prince in, they kept a tight rein upon their hatred for they did not wish to cause an incident which might possibly delay their charge’s swift return to safety behind their own lines. They did not doubt that the Mercian forces would quite eagerly slaughter them and gleefully keep their sorely abused Prince in their whore’s tent if Camelot’s knights gave them even the slightest excuse or appearance of threat. 
> 
> In a single gesture of kindness, Bayard 'graciously' provided them with a covered litter with which they could ferry their Prince from their encampment. However, much jeers and rude calls followed the knights in their controlled track out of the camp with their Prince, the knights determinedly shut their ears to the Mercians, caring only to strain their ears to listen for the soft steady breaths of their Prince to assure themselves that he still lived; that he wasn't dying and growing weaker as they carefully hurried towards Camelot's encampment while carrying the litter as smoothly as possible, so as not to jostle or jar their precious cargo.
> 
> One of the knights rode ahead to inform the King that his son still lived and to advise his Liege to exercise patience; that he should under no circumstance fling apart the curtains of the litter upon his son’s arrival, so as to afford their Prince some dignity he had been so starkly robbed of while in Mercia’s care. For all his earlier errors in judgement, Uther listened this time. 
> 
> The covered litter allowed the King and Gaius a welcomed measure of privacy to remove the chains that still bound Arthur's wrists to his ankles and to gently wash and clean him of the fresh and caked come he seemed practically bathed and soaked in, telling the older men what the knights suspected but refused to voice; that the Mercians had only quit their abuse of their hostage upon the appointed hour that their knights were allowed to retrieve him. The two men also quietly treated Arthur's many strains and injuries which were stark enough evidence of his sordid mistreatment during those long months. 
> 
> After they carried Arthur back to Camelot, the King, his physician and the knights of Camelot carefully didn’t let anyone else see the Prince during his long covalence back in his own rooms; ensuring his father, Gaius, or a trusted knight stayed by Arthur's side always to reassure and comfort him the many times he'd suffer a flash back of that hellish existence of perpetual and relentless violation and rape. For even after he physically healed from the ordeal, it would be many months before Arthur stopped needing constant trusted company and frequently given patient assurances that he was not dreaming and that the knights had truly removed him from their enemy's rape tent and returned him to safety within the walls of Camelot.
> 
> Arthur didn’t speak to his father when he first woke in his own bed and beheld the King sitting by his bedside and holding his hand. He didn’t need to. Over the last several months Uther was only too aware of his part in what was done to his son. And that it was unforgivable.
> 
> “I’m sorry, Arthur…” The King's tears drenched his son's hand as he clutched it to his face while he kissed bruised and bandaged wrists. “Never again-- This will never happen again, Arthur. We will be a stronger nation and build our strength to a point where something like this will never happen again.” His son’s burning eyes told Uther that Arthur would make that his personal mission. 
> 
> Less than a year later, Arthur earned the rank of Commander of Camelot’s army. And Uther knew for certain then that he’d lost his knights. They were Arthur’s knights now and would protect his son even from their King were he so foolish as to ever again consider letting another kingdom ask for his son as a hostage.

*~*~*

The next time Merlin walked into Arthur’s chambers and saw his Prince, it seemed to him that Arthur immediately saw the knowledge of his humiliating past written on his manservant’s face. He had turned away from Merlin then, his shoulders slightly hunched in anger and defeat.

“It was—refreshing, you know? To interact with someone who didn’t know the stories.”

“I’m sorry I pried.” Merlin told him sincerely.

The Prince almost snarled his reply. “Don’t you dare pit—”

“Rubbish! How could I ever pity you?” That declaration made Arthur look back at him in surprise. 

Merlin closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. “It was a horrible, terrible experience, but it did not break you. 

“You are the best knight in Camelot and its surrounding kingdoms. Every single one of your knights would lay their lives on the line for you. The people of Camelot love and respect you so much that nearly all would suppress or ignore the existence of this piece of history.

“If you believe that there’s any bad reflection in this past, it falls not on you. You survived it, and what you are now is a man who has a right to be proud of whom he faces in the mirror.

“And you are a *Prince* who will one day be the *greatest* King in all of Albion.” Merlin knew that the firm confidence and sincerity behind his words had left Arthur quite breathless and maybe a bit self conscious. But he really couldn't help himself. He believed that strongly in Arthur. 

Arthur broke the moment by turning away again. “Well—you’re late, so if you’re quite done with trying to pick up on gossip about your Prince—”

“Who would dare carry tales about their Prince?” Merlin pouted as he responded immediately. “Besides, there’s never any good gossip on you because you’re boring. Sir Kay on the other hand—” 

“Boring? Me?” Arthur glared at him in shock and affront. “I’ll have you know I lead a very interesting life.”

“But it’s not juicy enough to make the rounds of the gossip circles.” Merlin told him woefully as he turned away casually to begin picking things up around the room. “And I never have anything to add of course since there’s never anything interesting to share about you. 

“You should hear the tale about Sir Kay, a rabbit and a buckle…”

They easily fell back into their regular banter; the sordid tales of the past forgotten between them. Or so Arthur would believe.

*~*~*

Merlin could not forget nor let the matter stand un-avenged. The story changed little of his opinion of his Prince, though it did raise a blaze of anger in his heart for Uther, the Mercian King and the Saxons. Uther, Merlin could reason had probably been punished enough by guilt and with the knowledge that the Knights of Camelot were *Arthur’s* even if they still listened to their King-- for now. Mercia and the Saxons on the other hand…

Given the passage of time, Merlin decided that this called for something subtle. And despite Gaius’ scepticism, he could do subtle, damn it. He just needed to work on it.

It was nearly three months later before Merlin saw the results from a midnight session of spell casting under the dragon’s gleeful guidance. Gaius gave Merlin a pointed arch of an eyebrow when word came to Camelot that Mercia wanted to negotiate a formal treaty of peace. 

The statesmen in Uther and Arthur both prevented their outright rejection of the offer. Despite the history between them, Camelot was willing to hear what Mercia had to say.

After the messenger departed, Gaius had practically dragged Merlin back to his quarters to be interrogated. “Good Lord, Merlin? What did you do?”

“Nothing that they did not deserve,” he didn’t bother denying his involvement. “I just found this fascinating little curse that encourages pestilence and a few other interesting things which would cause crop failure and a rise of vermin.

“I heard that Mercia’s almost emptied their coffers trying to feed their people, and that their outlying lands are being encroached upon, especially by the Saxons. Not that the Saxons are doing all that much better themselves since they have to resort to stealing from their neighbours.

“And I heard too that there's some sort of terrible infestation of fleas and lice in their soldiers' barracks. Quite shocking, isn't it, for these upright disciplined soldiers to be revealed as being not so predisposed to cleanliness and hygiene? 

“Oh no--if they're on the way here, I suppose we servants need to prepare some sort of vermin dip that our guests could immerse themselves in before we let them enter the city. We can't have them bringing in parasites and additional unwanted guests into our clean city.”

Gaius opened his mouth, but thought about it and closed it again while he took a deep breath. “I suppose you heard the tale of Arthur’s shame.”

“I’d not likely call it that.” Merlin snorted angrily. “It’s more a tale of Uther’s error or Mercia’s dishonourable conduct.”

“Bayard would have to humble himself quite drastically if he expects any help from Camelot,” Gaius’ tone was neutrally conversational.

“Good.” The young warlock was quite smug. “And that’s no surprise when Camelot has had an excellent harvest recently, while Mercia’s other neighbours really don’t have much to spare at all.”

“You know, young man,” Gaius told him quite solemnly. “There are times when you—when the extent of your powers just frightens me.”

Merlin let out a weak laugh. “In all honesty, I sometimes frighten myself too.”

*~*~*

The dragon had been extraordinarily proud of him when it had sat as witness to the spells Merlin used to attack those distant nations. However, there was no way Merlin couldn’t know that his meddling would lead to the deaths of many of the common folk of Mercia and the Saxons as they tried to weather this sudden deluge of natural disasters where nature seemingly turned against their kingdoms.

But Merlin had come to realise then that he would do anything for Arthur. This revenge had been a long time coming, and Merlin would have the Mercian King and his people humbled and grovelling upon their knees before Camelot.

However, Merlin didn’t know that the Mercian delegation would be further humiliate as a side product of another’s manipulation; that they would be thrown into the dungeons for attempting to poison Arthur though failing to since Merlin drank the poison instead. And he also didn’t know that Arthur would justify Merlin’s faith in his Prince by defying his father to depart Camelot so as to look for a flower to save his manservant’s life. 

But all that was another story.

~End~


End file.
